


All That A Stranger Would See

by geckoholic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, M/M, Naked/Clothed, Roleplay, Sex Work, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: The door slides open after a few minutes, allowing entrance to a guy maybe a year or three older than him, everything about him screamingcadeteven in jeans and T-shirt. He's pretty, dark hair in an undercut that creatively stretches the limits of military regulations, gray eyes, tall and muscular. And that shouldn't matter, but it does; undressing just out of arm's reach of a stranger is a bit easier when said stranger has the kind of looks that'd make Keith allow him into his own bedroom, had they met under different circumstances.





	

**Author's Note:**

> At some point, I will do a canon rewatch and bring my a-game to VLD fic, writing proper plot and everything, instead of self-indulgent AUs and porn or, you know, both in one go. Not today, though. Today we're here for dirty, shameless porn with no nutritional value whatsoever. I had an ask with a request for stripper!Keith on tumblr (prompter prefers to stay anon) and tilted my head and went _ohh_. And then I went _ohhhh_ some more. And then this happened. 
> 
> Also, this fills the "role play" prompt on a NSFW prompt meme I posted on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz/status/839552276326989824). Still taking pairing+kink suggestions for that, by the way. ;) 
> 
> Beta-read by gitwrecked. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Liability" by Lorde.

In a military town like this, there's plenty ways to make money. Entertainment is a big one; food and booze, movies and parties. And of course sex, because nothing makes terrified or weary men feel alive like the heat of another body or the sight of naked skin. The latter his how Keith makes his living, has been for the past year now. Not his dream job – he came to town as a cadet – but at some point it occurred to him that orders and discipline aren't exactly up is alley. He loved the work, the studies, from math to flight training. That was wonderful, his brain firing away, growing wings. It didn't, however, make up for the uniforms and the drills and the yelling, a life pressed into strict guidelines and riddled with penalties for even so much as the tip of a toe going over the line. 

He didn't quit. He told his superior office to go fuck himself, flipped him the bird for illustration, and marched straight to his quarters to pack. It was essentially the same thing. Within the hour, he was escorted off the premises. 

This job isn't a last resort. He's not one of these guys that wash up on the shores of the adult entertainment industries because it's that or the gutter. He could probably have gotten a janitor's gig somewhere, or maybe an office job if he'd gotten lucky. On the day after he left the barracks, going through the job vacancies, he found an ad by a strip club in the outskirts of town, and decided – actually, consciously, decided – to see if the combination of a pretty face and years of dance lessons would get him a regular income. 

And, guess what? They did. 

He's marching off the stage with his clothes in his arms, sweaty and exhausted, when Bryan snaps his fingers at him from behind the bar. Keith stops, raises an eyebrow. 

“Have a quick shower and don't bother getting dressed yet,” Bryan says, now hooking his thumb towards the back rooms. “You got a private costumer.” 

Keith swallows. Private dances are different than a stage performance; nudity doesn't bother him anymore, neither does people staring or cheering or calling him names, but private sessions mean close quarters and the immediate gaze of one specific person. Nothing ever happened – the look-but-don't-touch-rule is enforced very diligently in this club, one word from the dancer and the costumer gets thrown out – but it can be... uncomfortable. But it's part of the job, and it pays well, and so he nods at Bryan and heads for the showers. 

 

***

 

 _Not getting dressed yet_ doesn't actually mean naked; it's still called stripping for a reason. Keith puts on a fresh pair of tight, showy briefs and a shirt that's too large on purpose, gives a generous peek at his chest and falls to just above his ass, and then waits in his designated booth, sitting on the smooth surface that serves as both seating and, if he so chooses, a miniature stage. He doesn't have to wait long. The door slides open after a few minutes, allowing entrance to a guy maybe a year or three older than him, everything about him screaming _cadet_ even in jeans and T-shirt. He's pretty, dark hair in an undercut that creatively stretches the limits of military regulations, gray eyes, tall and muscular. And that shouldn't matter, but it does; undressing just out of arm's reach of a stranger is a bit easier when said stranger has the kind of looks that'd make Keith allow him into his own bedroom, had they met under different circumstances. 

The guy takes his seat across from Keith and looks up at him, excited, expectant. His pupils are blown wide already, he's biting his lips, hands massaging his own thighs through the fabric of his jeans. The expression on his face is shy on the surface, but there's no doubt he's enjoying this; the blush all up his neck looks like excitement more than nerves, and so does the mischievous spark in his eyes. He probably feels like a proper deviant for even being here. 

“You know the rules?” Keith asks, full well knowing that Bryan and his bouncers don't let _anyone_ back here without giving them the full sermon first. The guy nods, and Keith smiles a little, which is half business and half flirt because Christ he's _pretty_. “Then behave, and we'll both have fun. Got a name for me?” 

The guy nods again, blinks, but doesn't look away. “Shiro,” he says, and there's an answering smile playing on his lips. His blush deepens and Keith can't tell whether it's nerves or excitement, but he finds it reassuring. 

“Alright,” he says, leaning back, bracing his weight on one arm, the other hand resting on his chest, lazily teasing a nipple through the fabric of his shirt, which is more for show than his benefit. “Then let's get started.” 

He widens his legs and rolls his hips, on display under the warm, moody artificial light of the private booth. Waits while Shiro's gaze, as intended, dips down, and then slowly works its way back up to his face again. He meets Keith's eyes and holds them, licking his lips, while Keith lifts the hem of his shirt just enough to give a preview of his abs, then returns to the nipple he's been brushing and pinching, quite enough that it tightened into a pretty little nub. He works the shirt off his shoulder on one side, slipping his arm out as well, so that the whole thing is now asymmetrically stretched across his chest. He puts a hand between his legs, moving in synch with the low music that’s still audible from the main stage, rubs himself through the fabric. Slips the material to the side, low, allowing a preview of his balls, his taint, arching his back on an exaggerated moan and screwing his eyes shut for added dramatic effect. 

When he opens them again, Shiro meets his eyes and works his hand underneath his shirt and towards his own chest, and the added strain to the fabric makes Keith _look_ , give him more than the usual cursory glance. He's bulkier than a fair few of the guys Keith works with, his pronounced pecs and the abs that appear where he's lifting his shirt make for a nice sight. Keith's gaze wanders towards his arms, the bunch of muscles as he teases himself, apparently getting quite a bit more out of having his nipple played with than Keith does, and fuck, but it's hot. It's really, inappropriately hot, especially considering that Keith is _working_ , he's supposed to be the one giving the show, not the other way around. 

The realization is accompanied by a sharp surge of arousal, and because Keith has always been stupidly competitive, he decides to up the ante. He moans again, gets more of the fabric of his showy, skimpy clothes out of the way and plays at brushing his thumb past his hole, though at this point it’s less acting and more genuine pleasure. 

Shiro swallows in response, his eyes weaving back and forth between Keith's face and Keith’s hand. The same hand that takes a quick detour upwards between his legs instead, pressing the heel against his growing erection, showing off the bulge that's clearly visibly through the skin-tight fabric of his briefs. Another line crossed, another principle abandoned; this isn't porn, and Keith doesn't generally consider boners a part of the show. They'll happen, sure, but he's getting paid for getting looked at, not getting off. 

Nevertheless, that earns him a moan, and a dazed edge to the look in Shiro's eyes when he glances up to lock them with Keith's again. It's sexier than it has any right to be, the constant eye contact, hungry in a way that's more personal than the way most people stare at his body and _only_ his body. The hand that Shiro had working at his own chest disappears from underneath his shirt, and he grips the edge of his arm chair so hard that the material dents around his fingers. 

Averting his eyes, Keith pulls the shirt all the way off, inhaling deep, then letting the air back out in exaggerated exhales that make his stomach muscles ripple and heave. He sits back up, letting his hands roam all over his upper body. The moans he accentuates that with aren't fake at all anymore and when he reaches back between his leg to brush his palm over his erection, there's real need in it. The fact that Shiro greets the sight with a breathy little “ _fuck, oh god, fuck yes_ ” isn't helping in the slightest. 

Keith lowers the waistband of the briefs just low enough that the head of his hard cock pokes out underneath it, and yeah, right then and there it seems to slip Shiro's mind that Keith has a face too, because he stares, enraptured, and doesn't look anywhere else when Keith stands, inching out of his briefs ever so slowly, until his cock springs free, straining against his stomach. He leaves them just underneath his ass, lets them press up against his balls just so, making for an even prettier picture. He pushes out his crotch, clean-shaven and bare, and gives Shiro a lewd grin. 

Shiro's body all but snaps forward, until he seems to remember that he's not allowed to touch, isn't supposed to cross the invisible line that means he's too close, could be perceived as a threat. The expression in his eyes is pleading, honest and open, and so damn _needy_. Keith allows himself a glance toward his crotch, at the sizable bulge that's been building there, and weighs his options. 

What happens in here is entirely up to him. Normally there'd be maybe five more minutes left, during which Keith would touch himself some more, lose the pants entirely, give his costumer a few more poses, a few more mental snapshots to take home, and then his work here would be done. 

The thing is, he's not sure he wants it to be over. He's not sure he wants Shiro to leave just yet, to stop watching him with that awed look in his eyes, tongue sucked between his teeth again, not even thinking about touching himself anymore because he's just so busy _looking_. Keith's a little bit of an exhibitionist by trade, otherwise he'd have quit this job after a week, but the need that's washing through him now, to be watched, to be seen – that's not business as usual. And it maybe stupid and ill-advised and flirting with disaster, but he lets his gaze roam about Shiro's beautiful face and the way his t-shirt strains in all the right places, and he makes a decision. 

He steps out of his pants entirely and sits back own, legs wide, letting Shiro see all of him. He catches Shiro's gaze again and takes a breath before he says, “It's okay. I'm making an exception. You can touch, if you want.” 

Unsure, maybe checking for a trap, Shiro looks around the booth. He swallows visibly, then meets Keith's eyes again. “You mean that?” 

Keith nods, smiling, and gestures for Shiro's hand. “I do. Come here.” 

Accepting the proffered hand, Shiro stands and crosses the space between them, sits down next to Keith. There's another moment of hesitation, then he reaches out and runs his hand over Keith's cock, around his balls; not stroking or teasing, but fondling, almost: pure selfish indulgence. 

And Keith groans and spreads his legs wider, because no, no, that's not enough. The needy gesture doesn't go unnoticed; Shiro's grip on him tightens, and he gives him a few rough strokes, then plays his thumb over the tip, which is when Keith notices that he's wet, has been steadily leaking precome while he wasn't paying attention to his body's reactions, too wrapped up in the sheer illicit thrill of going against the rules, offering things that aren't supposed to be traded in here; that he's never offered before. The idea makes him groan again, and he shifts, half-turning so he's leaning against Shiro's chest; the thin t-shirt Shiro's still wearing is warm with his body heat, and the rough fabric of his jeans against Keith's lower back is another welcome reminder that Shiro is still fully dressed while Keith doesn't have a single stitch covering his body anymore. He's stark naked, hard and messy-wet under the attentions of a _customer_ , a stranger, someone who's paying for the privilege, and so turned on his vision goes a little fuzzy at the edges. 

Shiro's other hand comes up around Keith's hip, splayed against his skin, holding him in place with gentle pressure while he brings him off, alternating between slow strokes and quick, unrelenting twists of his wrist until Keith spills all over his hand. Keith lets his head fall back onto Shiro's shoulder, breath coming too fast, and Shiro adjusts their positions, taking more of Keith's weight as he comes back down. 

“Still okay?” he asks, and Keith can feel warm gusts of breath against his skin as he speaks, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Keith nods and, after a moment's consideration, turns in his arms to break yet another taboo. He angles his head up and wraps a hand around Shiro's neck, dragging him down. The kiss is heated, urgent, all the more delicious for the fact that it's forbidden, more intimate than an exchange like this should ever become. 

When they part, Shiro grins, and Keith glares a question at him, not getting an answer until Shiro lifts his hand to his face, the one that he's been jerking Keith off with, and slowly, with relish, licks the come off his fingers. 

Despite having climaxed less than three minutes prior, Keith shudders with a fresh twinge of arousal, and his cock gives a weak but clearly interested twitch. _Fuck._. He rolls his hips against empty air, and the movement reminds him that Shiro's still rock hard, erection pressing against Keith's lower back. 

Not for much longer, though, because to Keith's complete astonishment Shiro gets up, and for a moment he's worried that he's changed his mind, that he's getting more than he bargained for that and thought twice about touching someone he _pays_. But he doesn't leave; he merely kneels down on the ground before Keith. Once more, his hand roams between Keith’s legs, rolling his balls in his palm, tugging at his spent cock, massaging the base until it begins to get hard again. 

And then he leans in, licks a long line up the hardening flesh, and it takes Keith's pleasure-addled brain a moment to figure out that he's not teasing; he's licking him clean, licking the come off him with an expression on his face as if he never tasted anything better. 

At the sight, all the blood in Keith's body rushes back south so fast he's briefly worried he might get an aneurysm. He repositions himself, feet braced against the seat and legs spread so far apart the muscles in his thighs are straining with it, and by the time Shiro seals his lips around the tip of his cock, tongue teasing at the slit, playing at this frenulum, Keith is once more rock hard. His hand finds the longer hair at the back of Shiro's head and grips a fistful of it, for something to hold onto rather than possessive intentions. The reaction is instantaneous; Shiro swallows around him, inhales and then takes him nearly to the root in on go, sucking expertly. 

The only reason Keith doesn't come again right then and there, overstimulation turning back around into something sweet, is his generous supply of pure stubborn resolve. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, worries at it while he pushes the need to come far, far away. Because he doesn't want this to end yet; because he wants to know how much further Shiro will go. 

In a drawer at the back of his seat-slash-tiny-stage, he knows, even though he never had cause to use it, are condoms and little sachets of lube. He leans back, twists around just as much as he dares without dislodging Shiro's mouth on him, or discouraging him from his current task. 

Shiro looks up at him, confusion writ large on his face, and his eyes widen when Keith rips one of said sachets open and coats his fingers. He doesn't quit get around to reach between his legs, though, because Shiro pulls off his cock with an obscene pop and halts him with a hand around his wrist. 

“No,” he says, smiling, albeit it's unsure, questioning. “The other way around. Fuck me. _Please._ ” 

And it's the naked desperation in that last word, the unabashed plea, that has Keith retract his hand and instead slide of his seat, rising to a stand. He looks down on Shiro, still knelt at his feet, staring up at him, waiting for an answer. 

“Get up. Face the wall. Hands flat to your thigh,” Keith commands, swallowing away his uncertainty, his surprised at the rough edge in his own voice. Part of him expects to get laughed off, for Shiro to get up up and walk out the door. But he's not kept in limbo for long; Shiro all but _scrambles_ to his feet and takes position. He stands maybe a hand's with away from the wall, legs as far apart as he can and still maintain a stable stance, and looks back at Keith over his shoulder, eyes hooded. 

Keith walks up to him and, with one arm, embraces him from behind, an excuse to shove him up further against the wall, until his body is flush against it, cheek pressed against the plastic tiles too. As a reward, he palms Shiro through his pants, making Shiro groan and shift his feet, looking for purchase. Keith wriggles his hand free from the narrow space between the wall and Shiro's body and reaches lower to unbutton Shiro's jeans. He’s impatient now, pulling down the zipper and pushing the jeans down to mid-thigh. Then he teases his still-lubed fingers through the cleft of Shiro's ass, earning another low, drawn-out moan, and dips it inside. Keith doesn't find him as tight as expected; the shy act from earlier definitely _was_ an act, because Keith'd bet tonight's pay this isn't his client’s first fuck of the night. 

And of course he can't keep himself from pointing that out. 

“Already had a cock tonight?” he asks, voice slightly mocking. “Or a toy? You know, when you walked in here I definitely didn't peg you as an easy lay, but I guess looks can be deceiving.”

He doesn't get a verbal reply, but the comment seems to land, because Shiro makes another small, chocked noise in the back of this throat and pushes back on Keith's finger. And Keith chooses to interpret that as a demand; he slides in a second one, then reconsiders and immediately adds a third. That meets a little resistance, and Keith takes his time working him open all the way, ignores it when the swirl of Shiro's hips gets more insistent, the noises he makes louder and almost a little affronted. 

He removes his fingers and takes step back, trying to remember where he dropped the condom wrapper. Once he's relocated it, he rips it open and lets it land where it falls; that's a concern for later. He slips it on and lines up, affording himself the small indulgence of running both hands over the smooth, taut skin of Shiro's ass. He's _gorgeous_ , and it's a damn shame that Keith's hasn't seen more of him, hasn't stopped to make him undress, ogled the abs he's caught a glimpse of, or played with those sensitive nipples. And sure, he could still do that, but they're on a clock, there will be questions, and also, he does have more pressing concerns right this second. So he puts his hands on either side of Shiro's hips and gets to the main event. 

The first push is slow and perfect and amazing and makes Keith's head swim. They're not evenly matched in terms of height, and in order to bottom out, he needs to move his hands from Shiro's hips to his shoulders, leveling himself up onto his toes. Distracted, he fucks in a little quicker than he meant, but Shiro still doesn't complain; he pushes back against Keith again, clenching around him, back muscles moving under Keith's grip as he adjusts himself against the wall. 

Keith suspects he's trying to make enough room so he can wedge his hand between the wall and his body and touch himself, but nope, Keith's not having that. “Don’t you dare. Keep your hands off your cock.” 

He pulls halfway out and thrusts in viciously, pressing Shiro's body closer against the wall. He thinks of the other's cock where it's pressed against the tiles, hard, possibly leaking, and completely neglected. It's more of a turn-on than it has any right to be, and suddenly it's Keith mission in life to make him come just like this, getting fucked and knowing they're doing something taboo. 

He digs his nails into Shiro's skin, imagines the little half-moon dents that won't fade for a couple hours, long after they’ve both walked out of here, and a few thrusts later Shiro's arching underneath him, moaning with abandon. Keith can't see the moment he comes but he can _feel_ it, Shiro's body clamping down on him like a vice. 

Keith doesn't slow down, keeps relentlessly fucking into him until he hits his own orgasm a few moments later. He lowers himself back down into a stable stance, but doesn't let go of Shiro quite yet, bodies pressed together, breathing in tandem. 

That is, until Shiro grunts, displeased, and nudges him with his elbow. “Pull out, man. Let me clean up. I'm already getting itchy.” 

“You're always so fussy,” Keith complains, but he does step back. His softening cock slips free, wet and sticky, and he makes a face. Okay, fine. Maybe Shiro has a point there. 

He pulls the condom off and ties it, bends to collect the empty sachet of lube and the torn condom wrapper, depositing everything in a small bin in the corner. He wipes himself down with the inside of his shirt; that'll be gross for a couple minutes, but his shift is over anyway and he'll hit the locker room to wash once they're both caught their breath. 

Shiro grins shrewdly at him, happy and sated, and waits until Keith's pulled the shirt back on before he points out the box of tissues placed under the table next to the costumer's seat. He promptly uses it to clean the mess he made on the tiles, and winks at him when he disposes of them in the bin. _Asshole._ But he's also pretty and willing to indulge Keith's every whim, and he loves him, so in the end the bill comes out in his favor. 

Watching Shiro put himself away and transform himself back into the proper, model cadet, Keith muses on what the hell he ever did to deserve this man. They were a better fit when they were both still in the military, squabbling over leading the statistics for their classes. But now... now Keith's getting undressed and letting strangers stare at his naked body for a living. Now he's dragging Mr. Perfect down to his level with a little illicit roleplaying to take the edge off whenever he feels the difference between them too fiercely. 

But, no. They’ve both just come their brains out; he's not going to ruin the moment by moping. 

“Getting yourself prepped beforehand this time was a nice touch,” he praises, enjoying the way it makes Shiro beam. He bites down on that right away, straightening his expression, but it's there for a short, wonderful moment. “I didn't expect that.” 

“I've got to keep you on your toes, right?” Shiro says when he walks out of the booth ahead of him, and Keith doesn't reply. It'd get lost in the music and noise of the club anyway. He just puts his palm on the small of Shiro’s back, a possessive gesture for any onlookers who might see them walk past and assume the wrong things. That they're strangers, like they just got done pretending. That Shiro isn't _his_. 

Bryan rolls his eyes at them when they walk past the bar, probably thinks they're weird for fucking at Keith's _workplace_. But they're paying for the time they spend together in the booths, so he doesn’t seem to care and has yet to say anything about it. 

 

***

 

Shiro's waiting for him when he reemerges from the locker room, reaches for Keith's hand and laces their fingers together, pulling him in for a kiss before they leave the club. The air outside is chilly. Keith sucks in a breath; it still surprises him even after years of living here, how cold desert nights can get. He walks a little closer to Shiro and wraps his arm around him, leeching body heat. 

“I'm hungry,” he says, and Shiro glances down at him, rolling his eyes. 

“It's 4 AM.” 

Keith shrugs his shoulders. “So? I've been working since 10. Let's have burgers or something.” 

There's a whole litany of counterarguments streaming across Shiro's face, and Keith has heard all of them before; _don't eat so late, we should both stay off the greasy food, you need to take better care of yourself_ , et cetera, and so on. But orgasms do have a tendency to make him pliant, and he merely sighs. “I just dropped 150 bucks on that private session, so guess who's paying for those.” 

“Hmm.” Keith gives him a blatantly fake thinking face, complete with wrinkled brows and a finger against his chin. “Also you?” 

Keith wriggles his hand into the back pocket of Shiro's jeans, slowing their already slow walk past closed storefronts and near-empty fast food joints while he presses his shivering body as close to Shiro’s hot skin as possible. 

“You're such a brat,” Shiro says. It doesn’t sound like a complaint.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
